Wednesday, 31 March 2010

I Like The Way This Word Sounds

I like the way this word sounds by Talia Randall

Friday, 26 March 2010


yes, I'm counted
I'm one in a sea of other ones
none of us no greater than our own sum
too disorganised for collective good times to come
and we know where we're from
grew up in your palm
but given half the chance
I'll run up your arm
and smack you for not seeing making a fist
would have done us harm,
for not becoming what you could have been
not for not doing what you should have done
but would my blow even land?
when you're a mini man in a promised promise land
Trying to get in where I fit in my position is filled in,
"sorry we're filled up, good luck with giving up"
never, never. Doctor, doctor,
it's my city i think she is knocking on heavens door
I want to help her but I'm piss poor
don't know why this abuse is being ignored
she'd scream if she had a mouth
but it's going on behind closed doors, so
only through graffiti do her words come out
did her shine get lost in the rubble after
the second world war?
campaign done forgot what she's about
we have i love london t-shirts
but we're not about love
because we're not new york
london is about rising above no matter what
we're the teeth that grind the diamond in the coal that shines
proof that only mediocre minds think imitation works
and no politician can hide behind their face, mouth full of teeth hair full of snakes
the last time i was inspired by a politician he ran with the slogan "change"
we all fell in love but it didn't do anything to the weight of our rain
serious every politician apart from the name is exactly the same
the bus fairs would have gone up no matter what, i don't get angry at pain
because the fact is their greed wont ever stop,
never, ever, doctor, doctor
my friends mum is having kids to keep bailiffs from knocking at her door
is it about who's fucked up or who's fucked up more
every artist that gets big is desperate to jump to another shore
everyone wants a leg up without thinking about who's getting stepped on
real cliched but baby don't forget where you came from
in the mean time I'm going to sing the same song but remix the rhythm
to no longer have my head in the clouds but walk upon them
just to get the people learning that london when got going gets burning
I'll be doing not telling, providing not selling,
so please don't tell me I'm counted, tell me I'm counting.

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

They Had Faces Like Grotesque Masks

He asked me why I didn't kiss
I said too many snakes have bitten my lips.
Only poison resides there now

It started with uncles
Who wanted to spill their incest
Inside my thighs when babysitting
For my working mother.
Their desire of turning
A child into a woman so strong
They failed to see it was wrong
To turn nieces into wives.


It’s a man touching your body
But never touching your soul

It’s being afraid of intimacy
Because you are so used to its company

It’s saving the world
But no one saving you

It’s the gift they despise you for
It’s the silence that comes after their applause

It’s sadness masquerading as joy
It's realising your arms are too short to hug away your pain

It’s not the cold side of the bed
It’s the cold

It’s not the phone that never rings
It’s the silence


It’s deafening.

Thursday, 18 March 2010

The weakness of many tellers of tales

She always talks: giving away too much.
The benign immensity of her words he ignores
The secret intensity of his words he stores
He stacks them on shelves and they gather up dust
Hidden and heavy, the weight of their trust.

She looses strength with every sentence.
And though she chooses carefully she’s
Betrayed by vowels and consonants.
Stung by sour regret as those sounds leave her mouth
Wishing he would save her and just interject.
But he’s tongue-tied, mouth dry:
His silence is a shield with which he’s protected.

He can’t expose himself with words.
Instead he makes her read in-between the silences
Expresses all he needs in the things left unsaid.
He belittles her words as babble, conjecture.
So she waits for him to respond to her with gestures.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

Dusk fell on the stream

Dusk fell on the stream
Time had long past curfew
But my mind wasn't yet ready to be freed from the paceful peace of the running water
Thoughts followed where it was going 
Wondering whether it hoped to return or longed to escape
Searching for shared fear of the unknown
Seeking strength
Eroding apprehension and 
Gathering courage.
I wondered 
Did the force of it's forefathers 
Drag it downstream
Through tributaries it would have never self chosen
Or was the current flow free?
Direction discovered in passing moments
Paths improvised intuitively

As I sit at the stream
I think of the knowledge earnt in school
Worked hard with
Pricked ears
Still eyes
Calm heart
Closed mouth
Scrating pen on paper like psoriasis
Eager to see red ticks
Preparation for red brick
Pretentious buildings 
Built for the minds of a scholar by the hands of a slave
And I am a slave
An unwilling lifter
Of the family name
To never let it fall to shame 
trampled down and/i'm 
drowned in blame.

Citizen's Arrest

I want to take you on a tour

The inches between my skin and insides

My gears that grind your hate and judgement

That make you feel the need for punishment

To call, insult me on what you see.

Should I apologise for my presence?

Needlessly minding my business

As my body is there as witness

And unknowingly I’m committing a crime.

So here I am. Correction Facility.

Changing my identity a necessity

So I can fit inside with that world of yours

While I’m rotting to the core.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

The Tears Still Haven't Come‏

Finally I find the feelings
I understand that I may never understand you, and I'm dealing with it
There it's dealt with
My emotions on this
That situation with you is now removed
I made u seem more than you were
That even you started to believe you was
I wonder if I stab my heart, will it bleed?
I wonder why I call you dad when I never did to your face?
I've been trying to cry about this for the longest, but it's been so hard
I'm so scared of what will happen
Now I'm struggling to breath
The tears hardly hit the corners of my eyes, but I still push my head back wanting them to go back in
I'm drowning
Thinking about the card that never came
The big 21
No love from
No, paper or words or money or call
No tears
Just wonder
It's never gonna happen is it?
If I see you I will be awkward
I would hardly look
I would walk away
I need them to replace the pain that I'm not even sure is here
And everyday I think of you and try my best to cry
But it doesn't come and I wonder why
Do I know what love is?
Did you ever?
Let me not go anywhere until these tears have come
And I will smile and be nice
And maybe not hold back me
Not wanting to let go until it happens for real
I cry to see if I still can
It's me admitting I've got pain
I'm confused
I don't care that much for you
The tears still haven't come

Monday, 15 March 2010

Edgy Corners by Talia Randall

Edgy Corners by Talia Randall

Friday, 5 March 2010

Group work- white flag.

I don't have a clue
Spitting with my silver forked tongue
the devil and I moved in toe
an oxymoron: I love my phone
his power inspires me
like moonbeams kissing the sea
Two lovers.
Walking perplexed.
White the colour of beautiful truth
Red. The colour of a beautiful lie.
Tongues dancing the kiss of death
who would have thought, what we said
we'd really do.
Hands up.